What Are Best Friends For?
by Nyxelestia
Summary: A good friend will bail you out of jail, but a best friend would be sitting in that cell right next to you. Gus, Shawn, a car, a bar...need I say more? Takes place in their early twenties, humor and crack and nothing more. :D


_**What Are Best Friends For?**_

**A/N:**** All right, this is quite possibly one of my shortest fics on her…like, ever. But I hope it's good!**

* * *

"Gus!" Shawn said. "You can't _possibly_ blame me for this!" 

"I can, I will, and I do," Gus huffed.

"Careful, Gus," Shawn joked. "We're in Vegas. Saying 'I Do' can lead to dangerous consequences. I should know. I almost got married last year!"

"You _did_, Shawn," Gus said. "You were just lucky enough to have accidentally used a fake chapel."

"Right next door to a real one," Shawn pointed out. "Who knows what would've happened."

Gus rolled his eyes, settling down on the jail cell's cot.

"I still blame you," he said, watching Shawn as he sat down on the opposite cot.

"Aw, come on!" Shawn said. "It _was_ fun."

"Shawn," Gus said. "How the hell is running three blocks from the cops _fun_?!"

"Well…that part wasn't. But come on, the fireworks?"

"I hate you, Shawn," Gus said, trying to suppress the smile fighting it's way onto his features at the memory of the old man screaming and throwing his toupee off when the mini-sparkler hidden inside of it went off.

If only that was the most serious thing they did tonight.

"But still…_inside_ the casino?" Gus said.

"Oh, come on!" Shawn said. "We're in our prime! We have to live a little."

"In our prime?"

"What? We're twenty-two. Although I suppose that together, that makes us forty-four years old…never mind. We're each twenty-two years old. We have to live a little! Our life-span is limited."

"And you didn't help it, today!"

"Gus, I took a course in anti-terrorist driving. We both walked away without a scratch-"

"NINETY-SIX MILES AN HOUR, SHAWN!" Gus said.

"Keep it quiet over there!" Some inmate from across the aisle called out towards their cell.

"Sorry!" Shawn called back.

Gus let his forehead drop into the palm of his hand.

"Why me?" Gus asked.

"What?" Shawn asked. "Why that dog went after you of all people? I think it had to do with that steak you had-"

"No! I mean back in kindergarten…why did the teacher pick you to show _me_ around? If that hadn't happened, I wouldn't have been here right now."

Shawn smiled a little sadly.

"Sorry about that," Shawn said. "But I am glad you were there to pull me out of that ditch."

"You got yourself into it."

"If I had _known_ that the U-turn wasn't blocked-"

"There was a sign!"

Shawn shook his head.

"That's why I have you, Gus," Shawn said.

Gus rolled his eyes.

"I called Jeanette," Shawn said. "She's actually a good friend of mines, and if I eventually pay her back, she'll bail us out."

"All right," Gus said. "Just once question…who the damn hell's Jeanette?"

"Oh," Shawn said. "That's Cherry's real name."

"So a random girl you paid for a one-night stand two months ago is bailing you out now?"

"Hey," Shawn said almost indignantly. "I said I_know_ her."

"How?" Gus asked.

"She was the girl I almost got married to last year."

"Oh, god…and you failed to mention this when you introduced us…why?"

"Because that would mean telling you I knew her before last night," Shawn said. "And you wouldn't have snuck off to her room at midnight for some action if you knew I knew her."

"I wouldn't have gone with her if I knew you paid her at all," Gus pointed out. "I hate Las Vegas."

"I love it," Shawn rebutted.

"I still don't get how girls can actually choose to become hookers," Gus mused.

"She didn't…"

"She was forced into this?!"

"No," Shawn said. "She's a computer engineer, actually. But she's also a self-proclaimed nymphomaniac, and figures that seeing as here it's legal, she might as well get some money for it. She's far from desperate, though. But you see – it all works out!"

"Shawn!" Gus said, exaggerated by his best friend's antics.

"One problem, though," Shawn said. "She's also a flair bartender, and can't come until her shift's over…which should be in about six hours."

"SIX HOURS?!"

"What part of shut the fuck up do you not understand?" The same inmate who yelled at the earlier yelled at them again.

"The 'fuck' part, apparently," Shawn called back. "My friend here is upset that a young Cherry last night didn't actually like him."

Gus glared at him, but looked out the bars as the inmate on the other side of the aisle got up and turned to them.

"Cherry? Red hair? Green eyes? Gorgeous pink lips?"

"Yeah," Shawn said. "She's a friend of mine."

"Oh yeah?" the inmate dared. "What's her real name?"

"Jeanette Elizabeth Keyston."

"Well, I'll be damned," the inmate said, laughing, running fingers through his gruff, blonde beard, and drawling out in his distinctly southern accent. Not Texan…a little bit northeast. "She's an ol' friend o' mine. I used t' teach her some tricks o' bartending. One o my better students I ever had."

"You taught her?" Shawn asked, almost excitedly. "Dude – you're Jack Manson!"

"That's m' name, don't wear it out!"

"Why do you care?" Gus hissed to Shawn.

"Dude – have you_seen_ how awesome Jeanette is? She's a master. And this is the guy who taught her!"

Shawn turned back.

"What are you in for?"

"Public urination…and illegal-firearm possession. I di'nt know it was stol'n. Made good target practice for piss'n, though!"

"Ah," Shawn said. "All a misunderstanding. I get it. Well, Jeanette's coming to bail us out in six hours. If you promise to pay her back, I think she'll get you out, too. Though be warned – she does charge interest."

"I was gon' call my brother here, actually – but he charges more interest than her. I'll ask good ol' Jeanie when she gets here."

Shawn smiled, and started grilling Jack about bartending tips while Gus groaned and fell back onto his pillow, listening to Shawn's ramblings. It was going to be a long six hours until Cherry got here.

* * *

Half an hour later, Jack had gone to sleep, and Shawn was back to pacing back and forth. 

"So," Shawn said. "Your back still burning from that last firework?"

"No," Gus said flatly. "Now shut up. I'm trying to sleep."

"Gus, we just drank six glasses of coffee in two hours…_each_. I don't think we're going to sleep any time soon."

"How the _hell_ did you talk me into a coffee chugging contest?" Gus bemoaned.

"The two-hundred dollar cash prize?" Shawn offered.

Gus couldn't help but smile.

"Of course," Shawn continued. "You spent it all on that bet in the casino."

"No I didn't," Gus quickly retorted.

"Yeah, you-"

"Check your wallet," Gus said, smiling. Finally. For the first time in a _really_ long time, he had tricked Shawn, and had the upper hand.

Shawn gave him a slightly dubious look. He had started out that evening with five hundred dollars of cash in his wallet. They each bet 200 on black, and seeing as they took what they earned (which was actually a lot) in the form of a check, Shawn _should_ have three hundred dollars in cash in his wallet…

"Gus," Shawn said slowly, looking up. "Why is there only _one_ hundred in here?"

"Because _somebody_ forgot their best friend was a mast lock picker, despite the supposed ultimate security lock on their suitcase, which, by the way, is almost pathetically easy to pick."

"But then where…?"

Gus smiled and slowly pulled out a wad of cash from his own back pocket, and Shawn's jaw dropped, before he suddenly spoke again.

"You robbed me of two fucking hundred dollars and _I_ didn't notices? That's not possible! The paradigms forbid it!"

"Tell the paradigms that they should've thought of that when _somebody_ decided to hotwire my rental car for a near one-hundred m-p-h drive, and ruin the upholstery…among other things."

"Gus, I swear, I didn't know that the champagne wasn't strapped into the box when I started driving-"

"Don't know, don't care," Gus said. "_You're_ paying for it. You promised."

Shawn's eyes narrowed.

"When?"

"Fifteen years ago," Gus said. "If you borrow something of mines and you break it, you fix it."

"But you haven't made me do that in years!" Shawn whined.

"I haven't let you borrow anything from me in years. I got smart."

"That's a low blow, Burton Anthony Guster. That was a low blow." Shawn said, trying not to laugh. But he and Gus gave up, and he and Gus finally laughed their ever-so-slightly-drunk asses off at all memories of that night.

"This was one night I'm never going to forget," Shawn said.

"No matter how hard I try," Gus muttered under his breath.

"I heard that!" Shawn said. "Come on, Gus. We won a coffee chugging contest, hit it rich in that casino, we both got one night stands, we set off fireworks in a strip club, and bungee jumped off that hotel and right into a girls only spa-pool, all to be topped off with driving on the open road in a Porche for almost two hours at nearly a hundred miles an hour. Actually, that's not even _half_ of it! This weekend was the best weekend of my life!"

"For you," Gus said again.

"Oh, c'mon, Gus! What about that phone booth? The underwear flag? The cross dressing? Hammocks? Coconut underwear? Gallons of shampoo? The _pineapple martinis_? That pole dancer? Cherry? Please, _something_ had to be fun for you!"

"You're still paying for it," Gus said. "And I still blame you. How am I going to explain this…" Gus rolled up his sleeve to reveal the bright, red, and angry marks across Gus's wrists from tons of pulling and struggling. "To my family? Just the arrest?"

"So tell them the truth – you went off with a hooker and you were completely drunk and decided to do some experimenting!"

Gus glared at him.

"Are you really _that_ fucking crazy?"

"Gus – handcuffs._Without_ getting arrested. How was that _not_ fun? The arrest was nothing! Besides, it was _especially_ nothing compared to being trapped in that phone booth."

"That was you…and I'll bet the fact that you were trapped with the same pole dancer was helpful…even if she was a lesbian."

"That's just it, m' dear friend," Shawn said, falling back onto his cot and laughing again. Geez – and after only two martinis and a shot of vodka. And Shawn was the direct opposite of a lightweight. "Lesbian."

Once again, Gus could only roll his eyes.

"Shawn?"

"Yeah?"

"You're an idiot."

"You told me."

"I did?"

"Yeah. Doesn't mean I listened, though. And be glad I don't listen. Otherwise, I would've have found that box of sequined underwear under the counter."

"You would've looked under there, anyway. Only you could lose your_boxers_ in freakin' bar!"

"It wasn't my fault!" Shawn said. "The card dealers needed a fuse for their fireworks, and I offered."

"Your underwear?"

"It was more flammable than my shirt."

"Why…never mind. I do not want to know. Ever."

"It's not that interesting a story, anyway," Shawn said. "Just some spilled gin down there."

"Why were you…no. No, no, no no no no no! I don't want to _know_!"

"Then stop asking!" Shawn said, smiling. "Unless you really _do_ want to know."

"No, Shawn – I don't."

"Ah, well…it was still an awesome weekend!"

Gus couldn't help but slowly smile at that.

"True," He muttered laughing. He was still laughing when he said, "But never again. Ever. This weekend was enough to last my a life time of vacation weekends with you."

Shawn grinned again.

"Nah. We'll go again. Maybe after you graduate college. We'll just go to Hawaii."

Gus gave him a skeptical look.

"No high speed chases from _or_ after cops…or hookers…or strippers?"

"Fine," Shawn sighed.

"No paying girls to make _me_ feel better."

"Fine."

"No luring me into stupid contests for just a little cash."

"Fine."

"And no getting me arrested!" Gus said.

Shawn smiled.

"If you insist on taking the fun out of everything…fine."

"Spit 'n' shake on it?" Gus asked. "_And_ pinky promise?"

Shawn smiled and nodded.

"Both tenses," Shawn said.

Both boys 'men' spit into their hands and slapped hands, bumped fists, shook hands, and made not just a pinky promise, but a pinky _vow_. Shawn's next vacation he dragged Gus to would nice, quiet, calm, and relaxing.

After a bit, when Gus was still just sitting there on his cot, Shawn slowly got up from his and sat beside Gus's.

"Gus?"

"Yeah?"

"I really am glad you were there," Shawn said. "I mean, yeah, now I have to wait longer for someone to bail me out…again…but still."

"Hey," Gus said. "It's like that cheerleader in senior year used to always say about this."

And being the best friends that they were, Gus and Shawn read each others' minds almost instantly, repeating the quote which almost perfectly described their friendship.

"A good friend will bail you out of jail, but a best friend will be sitting in their right next to you, side by side."

And just like that, both boys broke apart laughing at the memories of that weekend that would be ingrained into their memories forever.

"Shawn," Gus said. "I never told you this. But you make my life more interesting, and less boring. Thanks for volunteering to show me to the bathroom in kindergarten…even if you shoved me into the girls' one."

"And thanks for making sure I wasn't dead by now," Shawn said. He paused. "At least this time, we were a bit more sober than in Mexico."

"Shawn, we could be passed out drunk and still be more sober than Mexico. A beer factory full of drunk alcoholics would be more sober than we were in Mexico."

The twenty-two year olds smiled.

"Well, then…it shouldn't be that hard to remain more sober, then…right?"

Gus only rolled his eyes. There was no point. Shawn wouldn't care – he'd just drag Gus along with whatever the hell it was he wanted to do in his life.

With Shawn Spencer as your best friend…at least life was never boring.

"Sure thing, Shawn," Gus said laughing. "And of course I'll be there to pull you out of whatever the hell you get yourself into. Someone has to – God knows where you'd be right now, otherwise."

"Somewhere in the middle of Montana, talking to Japanese buffalo in tutus. But seriously though – thanks."

"Hey, no problem. After all," Gus said with a grin, looking at his best friend. "What are best friends for?"

* * *

**A/N:**** No, you're not really supposed to know exactly what happened…mainly because **_**I**_** don't know exactly what happened. I saw that jail quote and thought of this. And that Japanese buffalo in Montana is a private joke with my mom...so literally no one knows what happened.  
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**For the record, Nevada is one out of two of the only US states where prostitution is legal (the other is Rhode Island). But also for the record: I'm not condoning prostitution, and I am not expressing any personal opinion on that subject.****  
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**Well…this was only six pages on Word Document, so like I said – incredibly short, and even more incredibly crappy, but I had to post it. Review and critique anyway, so I know what to get rid of when/if I make it into something worth reading. Until then, thank you all for bearing with me this far. Please review!  
**


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